


Pressed Tight

by Gem_Gem, KittieHill



Series: Kittie And Gem Stories [16]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Awkward Boners, Awkward Sexual Situations, Awkwardness, Bottom John, Erections, Intense Orgasms, Lots of awkwardness, M/M, Masturbation, Sherlock Challenge, Teasing John, Top Sherlock, We're both dreadful at tags and titles, confused feelings, tube trains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-12-01 00:49:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11475120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gem_Gem/pseuds/Gem_Gem, https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittieHill/pseuds/KittieHill
Summary: When the train came to a stop, a stop that wasn’t theirs, Sherlock bumped into John’s body with a soft grunt and a shift, “Should have just taken a taxi,” he whispered into John’s ear, sending tingles down his spine. “Cost be damned.”“Umhmmm, yeah,” John said distractedly. “Conveniently though, you forgot your wallet.”





	1. Hell is other people

**Author's Note:**

> Myself and Gem often write small random stories when we're bored/frustrated/uninspired for other other stories. This is one which just so happened to fit with the Sherlock Challenge which popped onto my Tumblr. 
> 
> I (Kittie) have edited this story, so any errors are down to me. It's pretty much complete, but just need to fully edit the other chapters. 
> 
> Not Beta'd.

John couldn’t remember why they were on the underground anymore. He wasn’t sure if they were going somewhere or coming back from a case. All he could think about, all he could focus on, was the way Sherlock was pressed hotly into his back. He could feel whenever the man breathed, feel the breath on his throat and the expansion and contraction of his chest, could feel the man’s curls tangling with his own hair, soft and tickling, and could feel the very prominent, very rigid, unmistakable shape of his friend’s erection pushing against his denim clad arse. He couldn't move away from it. The train was packed and Sherlock was squashed into him, gripping the overhead handles beside John to keep from being shoved any further, whilst John held the metal pole tightly, holding on for dear life as though the scratched metal was a floatation device, intent on keeping his head above water. Why was he even erect? It wasn't like John was wearing little sexy, cuppy pants or anything, quite the opposite, he was wearing the same mucky denim jeans he had been wearing for the last four days straight. 

Shuffling his feet awkwardly, John closed his eyes and exhaled as slow and steady as he could. The rocking of the tube didn't help at all, forcing Sherlock to sway against John's buttocks, sending sparks of confusing sensations through John's body and straight to his cock. Forcing his other hand into his pocket, John clenched it into a fist in an attempt to calm his arousal, blaming the previous few days of running around London with no time to pleasure himself, sleep or relax. That was all it was, John decided, he was mentally and physically exhausted and these confusing feelings were just a side-effect of his bone aching tiredness. He didn't understand why he was aroused, and he definitely didn't understand why Sherlock was aroused. The whole situation was a massive confusing conundrum which would be better ignored, hopefully immediately forgotten and pushed aside as another one of those awkward mishaps that seemed to happen whenever John was around Sherlock.

When the train came to a stop, a stop that wasn’t theirs, Sherlock bumped into John’s body with a soft grunt and a shift, “Should have just taken a taxi,” he whispered into John’s ear, sending tingles down his spine. “Cost be damned.”

“Umhmmm, yeah,” John said distractedly. “Conveniently though, you forgot your wallet.”

Attempting to wiggle forward, John managed one step only to be pushed back by a group of Chinese tourists. The bump against Sherlock's cock was still shocking despite already knowing it was there and John felt a gasp escape his throat before he cleared it with a cough in an attempt to muffle the sound, not that anybody else on the train noticed. They were far too busy ignoring the bustle of everyone around them by reading newspapers, books or their phones.

Sherlock shifted his stance, altering his posture, and reached for John’s wrist for the time, twisting it in order to look at John's watch, “Another two stops and we’ll be free of this,” he murmured lowly, his erection suddenly and snugly between John’s buttocks on the next shift.

“Yep. Yeah. Soon --” John mumbled, his cheeks aflame. He looked around at the other passengers, hoping that nobody was witnessing his embarrassment or the view of Sherlock's erection, but the other people continued to look bored and a little bit annoyed at the delay in their journey. 

John hadn't been paying attention to the local signs and landmarks and the next stop came as a surprise, catching him off guard and forcing him to lean back against Sherlock instead of falling flat on his face, his buttocks seeming to swallow the hard shape of Sherlock's erection, “Fuck. Sorry,” John apologised and then blinked, wondering if that was a new low for him – apologising for being sexually molested on a tube.

Sherlock exhaled into John’s nape and down his neck shakily, “No need to apologise for moving with the train, John,” he said, still speaking low and deep in his ear. John wondered for a moment whether Sherlock's breathy voice was due to the lack of oxygen in the packed carriage, or whether it was a side effect of the massively swollen erection pressed against him.

Feeling the flush creeping up his neck and cheeks again, John nodded in agreement but kept his face staring outwards as he gently swayed back again. The erotically new sensation of Sherlock's cock against his bum was fast becoming quite intoxicating and he impulsively swayed again, this time bending slightly and moving back up before stilling, waiting for Sherlock's reaction. What was he doing?

First, there was nothing, no response whatsoever, but after a few seconds Sherlock shifted forward into him with a languid, rubbing thrust as he corrected his weight. The change pressed him a little closer and John felt Sherlock’s nose bump into the side of his head, pushing into his hair, before Sherlock turned his head aside with a long, drawn-out sigh that immediately sent tingles into John's stomach.

John felt his heartbeat kick start, pounding in his ears and drowning out the entire tube full of people and the noise against the tracks. John's own cock was almost fully hard and he was worried about people around him seeing, it wouldn't be good to have an indecent exposure charge on his record, nor would it look good in the press. 

Pulling away, John awkwardly shrugged off his coat, careful to keep hold of the pole so not to fall over. He folded over his coat and held it in front of his crotch with a weary sigh, “It's awfully hot on here,” he mumbled as an excuse.

“Mm. It is. Stiflingly so,” Sherlock commented with a nod, his voice steady except a small gravel tone to it, his curls entwining with John’s hair once again.

John swallowed roughly, wiggling his hips as though getting a better foot position and leaning into Sherlock's body feeling the thrum of arousal increase. It felt wrong, filthy and utterly depraved to be doing this in public, especially considering that they had never indulged in anything like this before in the past – it was completely thrilling and John felt the familiar leaking of precome against his boxers. 

“I'm thankful we're nearly home,” he continued, feeling that perhaps if they spoke normally, it would stop any future embarrassment.

“Same,” Sherlock mumbled, his hips pressing forward strongly in one particularly dramatic sway of the train. His cock was steely hard and molten hot, and John was sure he could feel it twitch against him as it slotted into place between his buttocks again.

John gave a final thrust against Sherlock before the bored voice of the tube conductor's notice that they had reached Baker Street crackled over the speakers. John was nudged by the excited Chinese tourists as they rushed to get off the tube and he grumbled under his breath, stepping forward, barely looking back at Sherlock as he exited and stood on the platform waiting with an air of shaky impatience.

Sherlock was out and brushing past John in an instant, grabbing for his wrist, “Come on,” he said as he went, dragging him along. John could barely keep up with Sherlock's long strides. “I can’t wait to get out of this stuffy atmosphere and away from all these wretched people.”

John almost tripped in Sherlock's haste to round a group of giggling students, but quickly caught up and followed his friend through the various crowds out of the station. The cooler air felt nice against his skin once they had escaped and he could feel his erection slowly subsiding as he walked – his pace slightly wonky from it’s uncumbersome presence – but he was just thankful to be heading home where he could deal with the nuisance before falling into bed to sleep for a week.

When they finally stepped up to the black door of the flat, Sherlock opened it with a flourish and there was both a rush of pleasurable relief and sudden, daunting tension. It descended over both of them, like all air had been sucked out. Sherlock didn’t speak or look at John, he didn't even seem hindered with the arousal John had blatantly felt in the tube, merely shrugged out of his coat, hung it up, and kicked off his shoes. He was acting natural. Acting like nothing had happened. Acting like everything was as it was and should be. As though this was as common as John making him tea or them chasing a suspect.

John was slower to enter the living room, hanging up his own coat and then taking off his shoes before standing in the doorway awkwardly. Unsure of the protocol for the situation, John cleared his throat and looked at Sherlock, then down to the floor, “I'm er… Shall I make tea?”

“ I’d love one, thank you,” Sherlock agreed as he moved to gracefully lounge down on his chair, crossing his legs and dropping his head back. “God it’s been dismal. I  _ hate  _ the Underground.”

“Didn't seem like it from where I was stood,” John mumbled, aware that Sherlock could probably hear him as he filled the kettle and set about making tea.

“…There’s a reason I prefer catching a cab, John,” Sherlock replied some minutes later, his voice sounding neutral.

“Hm.” John replied, looking over his shoulder. “I prefer it too. Especially after what just happened -  I'm not often traumatised by the feeling of my best friend’s knob against my arse--What was that all about?"

Sherlock didn’t move or speak for a moment, “Didn’t seem like you were traumatised from where I was stood,” he mumbled in reply, echoing back some of John’s own words impishly.

John flushed red, not comfortable talking about his lapse of judgement out loud, despite having been the one to bring it up in the first place. Why had he done that again? “I was er… Itchy. And dizzy. I was struggling to stay on my feet because of the damn heat,” he lied, unconvincingly.

Humming, Sherlock lifted his head, “Fine,” he said. “Tea done?”

John turned his attention back to the tea, spooning sugar into Sherlock's and returning to Sherlock's side to hand him his mug before sitting in his own chair and lifting his own drink to his lips, taking a long sip. The atmosphere seemed tense and a little awkward and John felt bad for how he’d brought things up as well as lying to his friend, “I wasn't itchy… or dizzy,” he admitted.

“I know,” Sherlock drawled over the edge of his mug, eyeing John up silently, his face unreadable. “Must we talk about it?”

“ No. Yes. No – maybe. A bit?” John winced, taking another deep gulp which burnt his tongue. “Just –  _ what  _ was that about? I've never known you to be – like that?”

“What? Erect? Well I don’t make a habit of it, John,” Sherlock snorted, flicking his gaze away. “It just happened. We were…close and it happened.”

“Oh.” John replied, looking down and feeling an unfamiliar pang in his chest. “So it was just – proximity? Right… yeah, course. I understand.” He tried to smile but it was brief and hurt his face.

“ Proximity to  _ you _ , yes,” Sherlock reiterated, glancing through his lashes at John.

John jerked slightly, splashing some hot tea onto his fingers with a hiss of pain. Putting his cup to one side, John wiped his hand on his trousers and cleared his throat, “You were affected because of  _ me _ ?”

“ You were the one I was pressed against the entire ride over here,” Sherlock stated, a blush on his cheeks deepening. “I’ve been cramped and pushed into people before. I’ve never reacted  _ that  _ way.”

“I thought maybe you just had a thing for tube trains...” John joked in a mumble half-heartedly, sucking his sore fingers into his mouth with a grimace.

Sherlock frowned, seeming annoyed, “I was against taking the tube in the first place.”

“Yeah, well, I couldn't afford a cab from bloody Chesham!” John complained, breathing deeply and reaching for his cup. “I won't write any notes up tonight, I'm too exhausted. I'll just do them tomorrow.”

“Fine with me – You’ve done that before,” Sherlock said with a small shrug, pressing his mouth to his mug and shifting in his chair.

“ Yeah. I'm tired. Very sleepy. Think I'll have an early night and catch up on the sleep I missed during the case. Do you want anything? Anything to eat or...something? Because I'll go once I finish this cuppa.” John gestured, hoping that the neon flashing sign screaming  ‘ _ Masturbation’  _ above his head wasn't visible to Sherlock for once.

“… No. I’m good,” Sherlock replied with a snide smile and a dart of his eyes. “Enjoy your… ‘ _ sleep _ .’”

John narrowed his gaze, “Why are you saying it like  _ that _ ? Like its suspicious. I haven't slept properly in two days! I am exhausted. I'm shattered. I need to sleep!”

“ As do I. I very much need to… ‘ _ sleep _ ’  as well. It’s fine, John. Enjoy it. Bask in it. ‘ _ Sleep _ ’  deep,” Sherlock replied, his mouth twitching as he hid it behind his mug.

“ ...Oh my God. God, you...you're making wank jokes! I didn't mention wanking!” John replied, voice high. He winced at Sherlock’s responding eyebrow twitch and sighed sharply. “I'm going to  _ sleep _ . That's it. You're just being childish.”

“I didn’t mention wanking either, thank you very much,” Sherlock retorted with a snort, taking a drink of his tea, but his eyes sparkled with mischief and delight at seeing John so wound up and riled.

John realised his mistake with another wince and silenced himself, slouching lazily in his chair and drinking his tea. After being quiet for a few minutes, John spoke softly, “Do you – do  _ that _ ? Wank I mean?”

“ Yes,” Sherlock replied just as quietly, nodding and smoothing out his shirt with an idle sweep of his hand. “And I  _ definitely  _ will tonight.”

John's ears and cheeks went slightly pink, he just knew it, and he nodded, embarrassed that as a well respected, experienced army doctor he still blushed like an innocent virgin at the mention of something as natural as masturbation, “Me too.” he answered, smirking around his cup a little, “I have the worst blue balls of my life...”

“Surely you’ve had it worst in the past?” Sherlock asked him with a small grin, relaxing back and uncrossing his legs as he raised an eyebrow.

“ I'm not so sure,” John grumbled, “There was a certain –  _ thrill  _ about doing it in public. Very terrible and possible reputation ruining to be standing with an erection on a packed tube train, yet there I was.”

Sherlock’s grin got wider, looking almost predatory, “Mm. There you were…” he purred in response.

“So yeah... I've had orgasm denial before, mostly when you call up mid-date. But this seems – worse. More filthy,” John said, arousal building once more. Feeling slightly nervous, John reached for his union jack cushion and put it over his crotch to hide the burgeoning erection from Sherlock.

However the movement attracted Sherlock’s gaze immediately and he looked, watching the cushion as John pressed it gently on his lap, “I see,” he said, seeming impishly thoughtful. “I suppose you’re right."

“Mm,” John hummed, downing the last of his tea and putting it to one side. “Are you going to retire to bed now? Or stay up for a while?” he asked, wondering whether he would have to stifle his noise if Sherlock was directly below him in the house. Sherlock obviously knew what he was going to do, but John still felt that it was slightly too intrusive for Sherlock to be able to hear his embarrassing -and very likely loud- sex noises.

“I’ll go once I finish my own tea,” Sherlock told him, tapping his fingertips to the mug and shooting a small, slightly smug smile his way.

“Right, well, night then,” John said quickly, standing up with the cushion still in place. He hesitated for a second or two, unsure exactly why he did so, and then dropped it back to the chair to walk over beside Sherlock's armchair, turning side-on so that Sherlock couldn't see his obvious erection. As he passed Sherlock, John put a hand on Sherlock's shoulder gently, holding on with a faint squeeze before leaving to deposit his cup in the sink and then heading up to his room.

It was only mere seconds from the time he closed the door before he was stripping naked, desperate to get on the bed. Almost pulling his bedside drawer out of the table in haste, John reached for his bottle of lube and pumped some into his hand, wrapping the now oily hand around his prick with a deep and loud groan of blissful satisfaction. He wanted to tease himself, draw the exquisite pleasure out but he  _ ached _ . John's tight bollocks had the familiar heavy ache which came with being unfulfilled and he kneaded them gently in his palm, letting a lubed and oily finger stray to his perineum as his other hand pumped hard on his red tipped and weeping cock.

John listened to Sherlock's progress around the flat during, clearly the detective had finished his tea and was heading into the kitchen. The thought of Sherlock being so close, and the memory of the closeness of their bodies earlier in the day, sent John flying into a dramatic and incredibly intense orgasm, which had him barking out a shout of surprise and bliss as he covered his hand and stomach with ejaculate. 

Panting and breathing heavily, John relaxed back and let his head fall to the pillows, the afterglow of the orgasm washed over him and made him feel calm and sated, and it wasn't for a few moments that John felt that he could actually begin moving again. Reaching for his t-shirt, John rubbed at his stomach messily, mopping up the semen, and then climbed clumsily under the covers, falling asleep almost instantly.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock was late to rousing the next morning and turned up in the early afternoon, just as John was making himself another cup of tea. The man shuffled into the kitchen in his rumpled pyjamas and dressing gown, and yawned, ruffling his hair. The familiar sight, which never had seemed to bring any sort of atmosphere before, now throbbed and expanded a blanket of awkward tension with every step Sherlock took. John wasn’t exactly panicked, despite the knot in his gut, but things had changed between them since yesterday. The line of their friendship had been warped and frayed. What were they now? What were they going to do about what was spoken of and hinted at the night before?

As Sherlock got closer to where John was standing at the kitchen counter he might have muttered a good morning but John wasn’t sure because the next second had the warm, sleep-mussed detective pressing up against John’s back to reach for a mug. A mug he could have gotten without the bodily touch. John froze for a second, the tension rippled between them, and then everything relaxed as John leaned back into the touch. It was strange to feel Sherlock's body again but it was a nice strange. Something John secretly hoped might happen again.

“How did you sleep? Good, I hope?” John smirked, raising an eyebrow as he looked over his shoulder at Sherlock.

“Oh yes. My  _ ‘sleep _ ’ was heavenly,” Sherlock rumbled with a husky tone, taking down one of his favourite mugs. His hips shifted forward as he did so and his penis was half-hard against John's arse. “Yours?”

John took a steady breath through his nose and pushed back to it slightly, rubbing his jean clad bottom against Sherlock, “Yeah good. Haven't ' _ slept _ ' like that in ages.”

“Really?” Sherlock asked, dragging the sugar jar over and rocking into John in the process. It almost seemed accidental. Almost. “That’s good.  _ Very  _ good.”

“Hmm. Although I did drop off rather quickly. I'm guessing that it was just the – exhaustion from the day,” John hummed, rocking his hips back and forth in a small, gentle rhythm. His face was burning with an oncoming blush and the knot in his gut was twisting in time with the sparks of arousal shooting throughout his pelvis.

Sherlock nodded and his hair brushed and tickled at John’s ear, cheek and jaw, as the man bent his head over one of John’s shoulders, “Most definitely,” he agreed, meeting John’s motions as he shifted, his penis thickening and pressing insistently outwards. “Do me a tea, would you?”

“What did your last slave die of?” John grumbled playfully, setting about making tea despite himself. His hips continued to move, rubbing his own hardened cock against the placket of his jeans and making his head spin with desire and the need to be touched properly.

“I want some toast too,” Sherlock said, leaning over John for the bread bin, using it as an excuse to push John into, and then bend him, over the kitchen counter slightly, showing his dominance and ensuring his growing erection was roughly pushed against John’s backside over and over again.

John's breathing hitched, but he quickly recovered and gave a roll of his hips in reply before moving back to a standing position, ignoring the way his cock twitched and pulsed with arousal, and the stained pink blush across his cheeks and up to the tips of his ears.

This wasn’t good. This really wasn’t good. They needed to stop this immediately and take a few steps back. Reassess the situation once their sexual frustration had passed. Not that John did that, however, he simply rocked and rolled against Sherlock’s grip.

“So needy. I helped you  _ sleep  _ and now you want me to feed you as well?” John huffed, smiling confidently over his shoulder as he considered pushing a hand against his crotch for a brief moment. Unwilling to bring himself off in his trousers, John simply rolled back his hips again as he stirred Sherlock's tea, angling his pelvis down to pick up the milk and giving Sherlock's cock a long stroke with his buttocks on the way back up with a soft moan.

He was probably too old for this behaviour. This wasn’t the normal behaviour of a forty-odd year old, straight, GP and his flatmate, but John couldn’t fight against the feeling that this was possibly the naughtiest thing he had ever done. And he had murdered people. 

“Yes,” Sherlock replied after a deep breath and a shudder, slotting the bread into the toaster as he swayed and undulated against John’s back and bottom.

John could feel his own breathing increasing, precome pooling in his boxers as he caressed, stroked and butted against Sherlock's erection. John finished making Sherlock's tea and left it aside as he gripped the edge of the counter, pushing back a little dramatically with a deep moan from low in his throat.

The sound sent tingles down John’s spine, leaving him dizzy and increasingly aroused as he tried his hardest to make Sherlock repeat those sounds.

Sherlock snapped his hips forward in reply but then picked up the mug and moved away, leaving John panting in the kitchen as he swaggered smugly into the living room, “I want honey on my toast.”

John stood, blinking in confusion and then turning angrily to glare at Sherlock. He was close to his edge, he could feel the arousal and the orgasm slowly receding under his anger and he stared at Sherlock, “ _ Seriously _ ? You're just going to – let me do it by myself?” John asked, not specifying whether he meant the toast, or sating his still-there erection.

“If we don’t have honey I suppose I’ll have jam,” Sherlock responded from where he was curling up on his chair, gaze on the TV and hands cradling the hot mug. “Though I’d prefer honey.”

John would prefer to strangle Sherlock, or have a wank, but he didn't have time now he was already running late for work, so when Sherlock's toast popped up from the toaster, John smeared it in jam then grabbed his coat and bag, “I'm going to work, and I've taken your toast,” he muttered. “ _ Arsehole _ .”

* * *

A few exhausting hours later, John returned to Baker Street and threw his things on the floor. The shift had been mentally and physically draining, with numerous old ladies blocking up the waiting room for nothing except chronic flatulence or high blood pressure. John clambered into the living room and collapsed into his chair with a weary, world hating sigh.

“Good day?” Sherlock asked him with a sarcastic snort. He was still in his chair, not looking to have moved an inch since that morning.

“Oh yeah, the best,” John replied just as sarcastically. “Make tea? I really cannot be arsed to stand up. - Have you even moved today? I'm surprised your skin isn't melded to the fabric.”

“I wouldn’t mind a tea,” was Sherlock’s arrogant and bossy response. The tone of which blatantly told John to do it and to do it for the both of them. Like always.

“No,” John argued, folding his arms. “You do it.”

“Why should I when you’re here?” Sherlock scoffed.

“Do you know what? Forget it. I'm going to bed,” John seethed, getting up and storming to the door, heaving himself up the stairs to his bedroom.

“Have a nice ‘ _ sleep _ !’” Sherlock called out behind him, the smirk evident in his voice.

“Oh I will! And I won't be dreaming of you!” John called back, slamming his bedroom door before stripping just as quickly as the night before. This time, however, John took his time and teased himself with slow and long strokes that kept him teetering on edge until he couldn't hold back and choked with his release, finishing up his chest with thick, long streaks which he wiped away once more with a piece of clothing.

“Fucking Sherlock,” he mumbled to himself as he pushed himself under the covers.


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning saw John in a much happier and relaxed mood. He slept late, climbing out of bed with a scratch of his belly to go downstairs to the bathroom. He had just finished relieving himself when Sherlock entered, standing in front of the sink and reaching for his toothbrush. Deciding to play Sherlock at his own game, John opened his gown so he was clad only in his threadbare boxer shorts and pushed himself against Sherlock's back, his morning half-erection pressing against Sherlock's buttocks. 

“Just need to wash my hands,” John said, reaching around Sherlock to turn on the taps and scrub his hands clean, slowly, thoroughly, pressing into Sherlock's spine, rolling his hips with each movement. “Can never be too clean...”

Sherlock’s face and neck peppered with a surging blush in response, his eyes flitting around and then locking onto John’s reflection, “Hm. That’s the doctor in you, I suppose,” he murmured, running his toothbrush under the tap, spreading toothpaste over it and then pushing back into John to bend over the sink.

John looked down at Sherlock’s curved back, a terribly rude mental image of how Sherlock might look naked and bent over for John's pleasure rushing through him. Rocking his hips, John could feel the fly of his boxer shorts spreading open, allowing his bare shaft to rub against Sherlock's pyjama clad arse, “I  _ slept _ very well last night. Seems going to bed angry helps.” John smiled into the mirror as he thrust forward slightly, scooting Sherlock further on the tiled floor.

Gripping the edge of the sink, Sherlock kept their eye contact and grunted lowly with a flutter of his eyelids, his toothbrush forgotten in one hand, “Really?” he asked in a breath after another few thrusts from John.

“Oh yeah,” John said breathily, hamming it up a little. “At first I was red and flushed, sweaty even. It took a long time to get myself tired but once I did I  _ slept hard _ . And a lot.” He moaned low in his chest, rocking against Sherlock's bum slightly faster, a fraction harder.

Sherlock wheezed and then snapped his jaw closed, breathing through his nose deeply for a few moments, meeting John’s movements with some of his own lithe and languid ones, “That’s good,” he murmured huskily. “ _ So good _ …”

John smiled happily at how his well plan was working and checked Sherlock’s crumpled brow, pursed mouth and clenched jaw in the mirror, another idea forming as he let his gaze drift over the man’s pale skin while he tapped Sherlock's shoulder, “Hey, do me a favour, turn around? I think you've got a bit of – yeah, a bit of something.”

Blinking out of his stupor, Sherlock frowned and turned to look at John, giving John the perfect opportunity to roll his erection against Sherlock's own, a sensation that made both men utter a low groan as John used his finger to wipe across Sherlock's chin, “There, you had... toothpaste,” he smiled, giving a final, hard roll of his hips before pulling away to leave the bathroom with a massive grin. “Rinse out the sink when you're done.”

As John stepped out through the doorway, turning down the short corridor, he caught sight of Sherlock in the corner of his eyes. The man was gaping after him with a red face, bulged pyjama bottoms, twitching hips, and a toothbrush limply hanging in his grasp. A sudden petulant glower rippling over Sherlock’s face was the last thing John saw and he allowed his grin to get bigger still.

“You should have made me tea!” John laughed, tucking himself away, closing his robe, and clicking on the morning TV as he sat on the sofa.

When Sherlock turned up some minutes later he was fully dressed and seemed annoying unaffected and dapper. He strolled into the kitchen, setting up some sort of experiment, and then fetched his laptop without looking at John once. John ignored Sherlock right back, taking his own laptop and starting a blog post regarding their last case.

It took the majority of the day, a day which was spent lazily lounging in his pyjamas whilst drinking tea, Mrs Hudson popping up a few times bringing some home baking, and John chatting with her for a while before she left. He put the laptop down with a sigh sometime in the late evening, stretching out his fingers and arms, and gave a brief peek over at his still sulking, silent flatmate.

“I'm ordering, what do you want?” John asked, looking at the takeaway app on his phone. “Anything in particular?”

“No. You choose,” Sherlock mumbled as he peered through his microscope.

With a long exhale through his nose, John did, ordering their favourite dishes from a local curry house before reclining on the sofa, wiggling his toes, “Is that important? Or can you come and talk to me? I'm bored.”

“I don’t have to move to talk to you. What do you want to talk about?” Sherlock asked him as he worked, sounding uninterested and grumpy.

“I don't know, anything,” John shrugged. “Life, death, sex… Jeremy Kyle. Anything you want?”

“I’d love a good death,” Sherlock said. “A nice murder would be perfection.”

“I must admit, I'm craving a good crime. I need to work off the extra energy. Sitting around in my pyjamas does me no good,” John admitted, sighing and scratching and slapping the skin of his belly idly.

Sherlock hummed in agreement, “Very true.”

“Right okay. Let's play a game,” John suggested, counting on his fingers. “Lestrade, Anderson, Donovan. Fuck, Marry, Kill?”

Sherlock lifted his head with a curl of his lip, “I hate this game already,” he huffed. “You answer.”

“Fine,” John shrugged, “Kill Donovan, I hate the way she talks about you. Marry Anderson because I can take out life insurance and then kill him… and fuck Lestrade.”

Sherlock’s mouth twisted and he looked away, rubbing at it to stifle an obvious grin, “How would you kill him?” he asked, obviously intrigued.

“Slowly,” John grinned in return, “Oh no! I’d do it like in a cartoon. A steam roller maybe? Or throwing him off a cliff and listening as he made the whistling noise before a puff of smoke rose up.”

Glancing back, Sherlock seemed much more relaxed and he laughed deeply, “A steam roller would be…interesting.”

“It'd be like a tube of toothpaste,” John chuckled, “So come on, your turn… okay so… Donovan, Anderson or… Anthea. Fuck, marry, kill.”

Frowning Sherlock tilted his head, “Who’s Anthea?”

“Your brothers lackey. The one with the legs,” John explained, “Never looks up from the Blackberry?”

“Oh!” Sherlock nodded in recognition, and then sighed, sitting back in the kitchen chair he was perched on. “Marry Lestrade, fuck ‘Legs,’ and kill Anderson.”

“I tried with ‘Legs,’ but she turned me down,” John said with a grumble. “Which I'm sort of glad about because, truthfully, she terrifies me a little. I bet she's like some weird, creepy dominatrix who spanks all the politicians into shape.”

Sherlock tilted his head, “She is rather strong-willed. I like her,” he told John.

“Are her and Mycroft...” John trailed off then gave a crude gesture to signify sex. “Does Mycroft do that?”

“Ugh. I’m not even going to dignify that with a response,” Sherlock complained with a look of utter disgust.

“Well, I didn't even think you did that,” John said, pulling his legs under him as he shifted his position. “And Mycroft is weirder and more socially inept than you. So I just assumed he didn't… Plus, if he's having more sex than me, I'm going to have to top myself.”

“I don’t care to know anything of that nature about my brother. It’s bad enough knowing it about my parents,” Sherlock said with a low, rumbling laugh. “They’re forever at it. Like rabbits.”

John laughed loudly, clutching his belly, “Good on them! Just being old isn't a reason to not have sex. Look at Mrs Hudson! She's a complete pervert.”

“I know,” Sherlock sniggered, beaming over at John. Deep down, John was happy that Mrs Hudson was enjoying her retirement, she hadn't had much fun since the death of her husband. Well… except almost being tortured by Americans, or dealing with Sherlock's experiments, but that wasn’t always fun.

“I'm glad my bedroom is upstairs. I think I’d die of shame if I heard her… sex noises,” John shuddered, “It's one thing knowing about it, but I don't want to hear it.”

“Mm. I have to put in earplugs when she gets particularly shrill,” Sherlock replied and then stood up, leaving his equipment to cautiously stroll over to the sofa, “And the  _ mouth  _ on her. She makes even you seem innocent. Fairly certain she taught sailors everything they know.”

“Bless her,” John sighed, moving over to allow Sherlock space. “It's a sad state of affairs when my elderly landlady gets more sex than I do.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes as he sat down, shooting John a smirk, “It really doesn’t matter to me. It’s not a competition.”

“...It sort of is. Imagine a sex Olympics right… and you've got people like Mrs Hudson and your parents having all the sex. They're like the Usain Bolt's and Mo Farrah's of the world. They're the athletes… then imagine me. I'm the twat doing the egg and spoon race.”

“…I have no idea who Usain Bolt and Mo Farrah are,” Sherlock shrugged as he lounged back and stretched out his legs, crossing them at his ankles. “I was quite good at the egg and spoon race in school if I recall.”

“I was using that as a metaphor for wanking so… yeah, I suppose you were,” John laughed with a raised eyebrow, looking over at Sherlock. “Do, uh,  _ you  _ have sex? Or like…  _ have  _ you? Before?”

“No,” Sherlock replied easily, turning to look at John. “But I want to.”

“ _ Oh _ . Right… I mean… that's good. It's good that you're open minded to experiencing that,” John muttered, idly picking at the lint on his dressing gown.

For a moment, he considered leaning over and kissing Sherlock, he even tilted his head slightly, leaning forward close to Sherlock's lips. John could feel Sherlock's breath against his philtrum, could smell the coffee and sickly sweet honey on Sherlock's lips. He was only inches away from Sherlock's lips, so close, so incredibly close, when suddenly the doorbell downstairs began to chime and splintered the atmosphere, making him freeze.

John sighed at being interrupted, “Ah. Um. Food's here,” he whispered, pulling away from Sherlock and standing for his wallet, awkwardly fussing with the notes in his fingers whilst he tried to calm his breathing and work out what the fuck he was doing.

Sherlock stood as well and moved back into the kitchen to begin packing away his things, making room for them to eat at the table, “Tea?” he asked, seemingly unaffected by their near-kiss.

“Just water please,” John replied and then took a deep breath, rushing downstairs to pay the delivery driver. Bringing the food back up, John put it on the table and picked up some plates and cutlery. “...Smells nice.”

“As always,” Sherlock nodded, pulling out a bottle of wine with a small grin. “This is better than water.”

John grinned, nodding in approval, “Yes, I suppose so. And I'm not working tomorrow, so it doesn't really matter if I get a bit tipsy.”

Filling two wine glasses, Sherlock sat down at the table and took a quick sip, “You don’t have to go overboard,” he chuckled.

“Why not indulge a little?” John smiled, tinging his glass against Sherlock's. “Cheers!”

“Cheers,” Sherlock responded with a small, soft smile.

John tucked into his food, enjoying the spicy curry and the wine as he relaxed in Sherlock's company. They chatted easily on various topics, John finding himself getting more and more relaxed by the wine and good food, “So… sex,” John said, pointing his fork at Sherlock. “Why haven't you done it?”

“Wasn’t really interested in it,” Sherlock told him with a small shrug. “It wasn’t important or relevant to my life, to my Work. – Is that so strange?”

“Well… you experiment on everything. I just assumed you would have done experiments on sex,” John answered, scooping more curry and rice into his mouth. “It's fine you haven't… I mean, it's kind of sexy to have a man your age, still be... a virgin...”

Sherlock paused just before he had a sip of wine and lifted his eyebrows, “It…is?”

“I think so yeah,” John shrugged trying to be nonplussed about what he’d just admitted, but he was slightly flushed with embarrassment at having said such a thing out loud. Where had that come from anyway? “I mean… you're an older person who hasn't had any experience with sex, and it’s a little refreshing and...humbling and... you don't know the pleasure and the… other things that you can do with a partner. Like – have you ever had your dick sucked?”

“Yes,” Sherlock replied, giving John a boyish, mischievous grin. “I strained my neck.”

John inhaled a bit of his wine and coughed, blinking rapidly, “You – You…  _ How _ ? How can you do that. I can't even – _ wow _ . I'm impressed.”

Sherlock seemed to puff out his chest proudly, “I’m quite flexible,” he replied. “And was very intrigued at the time.”

“Yeah… I'm intrigued too,” John laughed, licking his lips and staring over at Sherlock with a sudden lustful craving. “What about anal stuff? Have any special toys or objects you like to... slip up there?”

“No. I played with myself once, with my fingers, that’s all,” Sherlock told him as he went back to his food, not looking away from John as he did so.

“You didn't like it?” John asked, meeting Sherlock's eyes. “It's very nice, if it’s done  _ correctly _ .”

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it. Just that I played with myself once with my fingers,” Sherlock replied with a crafty smile.

“...I, uh, always find it really intense and overwhelming,” John disclosed, playing with the remaining food on his plate. “It's very --” he gestured absently, “well,  _ intense _ ...that’s the, um, the best word for it really.”

“Noted,” Sherlock rumbled deeply with an intrigued quirk of one eyebrow.

“No I mean… I get really emotionally needy,” John laughed with faint unease. Why was he still talking? “Like.. I need to be held and petted. Not sure what it's all about… but it just feels  _ too much _ and overwhelms me. So, I hope you don't mind snot on your duvet.” He got out another short laugh and then froze. “Not that I'm suggesting we do  _ that _ … I mean I'm happy with the 'sleep' thing. I – Wow, I really am doing a lot of talking.” He shut himself up with a snap of his jaw.

Sherlock leaned on the table to get closer to him, “I don’t mind what you’re suggesting…” he murmured, peering at John intensely. “Though, just to be clear, what exactly  _ are  _ you suggesting?”

John swallowed roughly and looked away, “I don't know… I er… I mean… I'd happily help with you losing your virginity. If you want that?”

“How?” Sherlock asked him, leaning closer and pushing his plate aside.

“How?” John frowned and then blinked in realisation. “Oh you mean… which way? I er… Oh I've never really thought about it.”

Sherlock blinked at him slowly, “Yes you have. So, again,  _ how _ ? ‘Which way,’ as you say it?”

John decided to be brave, sitting up straight and looking directly at Sherlock, “However you want, whichever you would prefer for your first time. If you want to be penetrated, then I'll fuck you. If you want to penetrate me… then I'll be fucked by you.”

Sherlock huffed, leaning closer still, “You’ve  _ thought  _ about it. Tell me what you’ve thought about. Which would you rather happen?”

Taking a courageous sip of wine, John pushed his own plate away, “I've considered both. I would usually say that I'm a top. I wouldn't – take it from anyone else. Except you. Of course. You're –  _ different _ . I feel like you'd be careful with me, you wouldn't push too hard or too far and you'd – take care of me.” John cringed. “Does that sound shit? It sounds shit doesn't it?”

“I’d fuck you until your legs stopped working,” Sherlock whispered huskily with a sudden smirk, his pupils wide and his throat flushed.

John's cock, which had remained half hard throughout the entire conversation, now rose to full hardness, straining in his boxers against his gown. Thankful that he hadn't put on his clothes, John used the heel of his hand to rub again, “Yes. Yes  _ that _ . I want that.”

“Yes. You do, don’t you? You’ve wanted that for a while now, haven’t you?” Sherlock purred. “You want it right this  _ moment _ , don’t you John?”

Licking his lips timidly, John nodded as arousal zinged through his veins and could only whimper in response to it, looking over at Sherlock, “ _ Yes _ . I want that, I’d like that now.” he admitted.

“Then get ready in your bedroom and I’ll be right up to give it to you,” Sherlock breathed, his smirk softening around the edges as he looked him over.

John hesitated but quickly nodded, reaching out to tak e Sherlock's hand and squeeze it for an extra comfort. Leaving the table, John went straight to the bathroom for a thorough cleaning (or as much as possible) before wrapping himself in a long, fluffy towel and heading upstairs to his bedroom.

Drying himself, John checked the top drawer of his bedside table, pulling out the lube and condoms and leaving them on the top whilst he put another towel down on the bed. He didn't want to be naked when Sherlock arrived, so John rewrapped his towel back around his waist before reclining on his bed anxiously whilst he waited.

What had he gotten himself into?


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock turned up a few minutes later in his dressing gown and, apparently, nothing else judging by his bare legs, “Nervous?” he asked as he closed the door behind him, strolling over to John with a confidence that seemed misplaced considering he was the virgin and John was the experienced man.

“Not so much nervous as utterly _terrified._ I feel that I might ruin everything, including your first time. That’s a lot of pressure,” John laughed, scratching at his arm in agitation. “It's fine though, I'm okay.”

With a nod, Sherlock sat down on the side of the bed and leaned over him, stroking at his fingers, “You won’t ruin it,” he assured him. “Do you…need a kiss or…a hug or something? That’s what people do in situations like this, don’t they? Coddle the other?”

John laughed and felt the tension loosen from his chest as he nodded with a coy smile, standing up, signalling Sherlock up, and wrapping his arms around him so he could talk into his ear, “Tell me that it won't ruin us? Tell me that and I'll throw myself at your feet  _ right now _ … but if this will ruin our friendship then I can't. I  _ won't _ .”

“…You’ll always be my best friend, John,” Sherlock replied, curling his arms about him in response, patting and then stroking his back, “ _ Always _ . Even if you leave.”

Bolstered by Sherlock's words, John pulled back and ran a hand through Sherlock's curls, “I won't leave” he promised, moving forward to press a soft chaste kiss against his lips. “I'm okay. This is okay. Everything is...okay.”

Sherlock smiled at him dazedly and then hummed, closing his eyes, “I like you, John. Quite a lot. You mean a lot to me. More than I can put into words – And, if it helps, I find you very sexually, physically and mentally appealing, and have done for a while but I…thought it would complicate things and distract me. But that happened anyway, still does, so I might as well just… _ indulge _ myself.” His smile twitched into a grin.

“Oh please, indulge away,” John smiled back, kissing Sherlock again but this time deepening it, licking into Sherlock's mouth and cupping his smooth, warm cheek.

Sherlock melted into the kiss, his posture relaxing even as it shuddered with aroused tension, and he kissed John back, gripping his shoulders and then cradling the back of John’s head. He was oddly sweet, tender and submissive in the kiss, allowing John to lead it, a complete turnaround from how he had been at the kitchen table.

John attempted to show off, throwing all of his hard-earned tricks at Sherlock to make him moan. Sherlock seemed to like when John bit his bottom lip, and John was happy to continue as he let his towel fall to the floor so he could put his other hand on Sherlock's hip.

Suddenly pushing John away, Sherlock looked down at the smaller, more compact, naked body, “Let me see you,” he whispered, running his hands down John’s faintly muscled chest.

John felt his cheeks alight with heat at being looked at, really _ looked _ at, by Sherlock, and playfully cocked a hip, awkwardly putting his hands on his hips. Almost every inch of him was flushed with arousal, “Not much to look at, but I hide it well.”

“What are you talking about? You’re extremely arousing to look at,” Sherlock said with a coarse, seductive, purring tone of voice, stroking at the skin of John’s pelvis. “I adore everything about you.  _ Everything _ . I’d not change a thing.”

“You're not so bad yourself,” John admitted, moving to kiss and fondly lap at Sherlock's pulse point at his throat, hiding his face in doing so. “You're... incredibly sexy. Your neck, your shoulders, your arse and your hands… your lips and  _ Jesus _ , everything. - I want to come on every single inch of your skin. I want to rub it in, put my scent on you so everyone knows who you belong with and what we do...” John trailed off, realising he was rambling and intensely embarrassed with the things he was disclosing, and pulled back. “Too much?”

Sherlock’s gaze was heated, lids hooded, his bright irises a thin silver band around a pool of black. He shook his head and yanked JOhn back by the waist, digging his fingers in and nuzzling the side of John’s jaw, “You know what I want? Right now? I want you to finger yourself, get yourself ready for me, show me what you like, and then I want to  _ suck your cock _ ,” he whispered throatily.

John whimpered, not in a sexy, love-god way but in an ‘ _ oh-my-god-I-might-come-if-you-keep-talking-way _ ’ and slammed his eyes closed. Nodding he returned to the bed, spreading his legs and reaching for the lubricant, “I already did a bit in the bathroom,” he commented idly, spreading the cold gel on his fingers and letting it warm before slowly rubbing around his fluttering skin. “It won't take long...”

“ _ Good _ ,” Sherlock said as he began strolling around the bed to watch him from all angles, hungrily watching, stalking, like a predator. “I want to fuck you quite badly, John.” His face flushed as he spoke, as he stared, and he untied his dressing gown, slinging it aside to expose the entire length of his naked body. He was fully erect, the tip rosy and wet, and it bobbed thickly as he walked, swishing and throbbing in eagerness.

Slamming his eyes shut, John inhaled deeply as he pushed a second finger inside himself with a yearning he’d not felt for years. He was almost mortified at how aroused he was, how desperate he felt to have Sherlock inside him. Rocking back and forth on his fingers, John avoided his prostate for fear of coming accidentally and instead focussed on simply stretching himself wide enough, especially considering Sherlock's flushed cock wasn't exactly on the small side.

After a few long, intense moments, John pulled his fingers out and pushed in three, groaning and gasping at the ache, “ _ Oh God _ , I forgot how it feels,” he moaned loudly.

“Tell me,” Sherlock husked, sounding extremely close to John’s right side, his scent deep and spicy with his obvious arousal. “Tell me how it feels, John.”

“It's… it’s a simmering sort of burning,” John groaned out, throwing his head back with a wanton moan. “It aches - No,  _ I ache _ . God I ache so much. I'm not used to going this big, I normally stick with two. And it feels a little bit dirty, a little bit slutty and filthy, especially to be showing you this. It feels good though,  _ so good _ . Tingles through my entire spine. It's – making me crave more...making me...”

Sherlock was suddenly kissing John’s cheek, overly and lovingly affectionate, “Good,” he breathed, trailing chaste, almost romantic pecks towards the corner of John’s mouth. “I’m going to join you on the bed now. And then I’m going to suck your cock while you continue, all right?”

“Yes… yes please… God  _ please _ ,” John was rambling, nodding quickly and sending droplets of sweat into the air as he widened his legs further, trying to better position himself for Sherlock. The motion alone nearly sent him over the hot edge of pleasure. “Fuck me soon though? Yeah? You will fuck me, won’t you?”

“Oh yes. I will, John. I  _ promise _ you,” Sherlock agreed, stroking a trembling hand over John’s forehead and pushing back his damp fringe. “I can’t wait either. I want to be inside of you, John. I want to fuck you until you scream.”

Whining low in his throat, John nodded more rapidly before attempting to add his little finger inside himself, he was stretched full, but he wanted more, wanted to show Sherlock more. Meeting Sherlock's eyes, John panted and garbled out an incoherent sound briefly,  “I'm ready, I'm ready… I can't fit anymore...” he moaned, bucking his hips and watching as a trickle of pre-come glistened wetly on his stomach. “Please!”

Sherlock kissed the centre of his chest and then shuffled up onto the bed, getting between his legs, “First, I’m going to taste you…and then I’ll fuck you,” he told John, his pale skin tinged a blotchy pink as he leaned down to, first nose at, and then suck up John’s slick erection.

“ _ Jesus Christ _ \--I won't last long so don't do much,” John panicked, reaching out for Sherlock's hair with his clean hand. “I don't want to come before you're inside me. Okay? So when I'm close, stop?”

“I won’t do it for long,” Sherlock assured him once he’d let John’s shaft fall from his lips, rolling the taste around his mouth with a sly and nimble tongue.

John relaxed at that, loosening his grip on Sherlock's hair and lying back on the bed. His fingers still worked, but softer and slower whilst Sherlock licked, mouthed at, and sucked him. John rolled his head from side to side as the bubbling bliss that was gathered low, increased in intensity, moaning out loud, and tugged gently on Sherlock's hair, “God, you're good at that...”

Tonguing at John’s retracted foreskin, Sherlock rubbed it with his lips, teased at the weeping tip of John’s cock, and then pulled away completely, reaching for the condoms, “You taste  _ divine _ .”

“Oh, just one more lick?  _ Please _ ,” John found himself begging, looking down at his erection where it was resting, wet, thick and twitching on his stomach. “Just another quick taste?”

Opening the condom packet, Sherlock grinned and bent flexibly back down to run his tongue from base to tip as he rolled the condom onto himself, “There you go.”

John hissed, grumbling about Sherlock being a bastard as he carefully removed his fingers. He wiped them on the towel beneath him and blushed, pulling Sherlock down for a kiss. “Ready?” Sherlock asked him between each soft press of lips, once again tender and affectionate as he nuzzled at John’s face.

“Yes,” John whispered in response, allowing himself to be positioned correctly for Sherlock's height. Suddenly thinking, John grabbed a pillow and put it under his bum to lift himself up slightly, planting his feet firmly on the mattress. “Slow. As slow as you can bear… just at first.”

Sherlock nodded, adorned John’s face and neck with more kisses, and then shifted closer on his knees, pressing in between John’s legs and angling his erection purposely, “Look at me,” he breathed as he nudged the blunt, hot head of his penis within John.

John took a shuddering inhale, held it for a moment, and then let it out steadily, keeping his eyes firmly on Sherlock despite the stretching intrusion. His hands ran up and down Sherlock's torso and shoulders, “That's – good. So  _ good _ .”

Goose bumps rose in the wake of John’s fingertips and Sherlock exhaled shakily as he pressed in, stretching John just an inch or so more, “ _ Yes _ ,” he hissed through his teeth, his own focus shifting as he pushed deeper into John with a sting and squish. “Oh...”

“How does it feel? Tell me,” John said, repeating Sherlock's words from earlier. “Do you like it?”

“ _ Oh yes. _ Stupid question. So...stupid-- I…I love it,” Sherlock groaned, the sound vibrating loudly in the space between them as he sank within John’s body. “It feels…it…it feels…like…like… _ everything _ …” His hips shuddered and after a second they snapped forward, his erection rubbing abruptly against John’s prostate.

“Oh  _ fucking hell _ !” John wailed, grabbing at Sherlock's shoulders and digging his nails in. “Oh God,  _ do that again _ . So good. So good, Sherlock...”

Sherlock blinked and shifted his hips, pulling out slowly, almost teasingly, and pushing back in, missing John’s prostate for a moment before he snapped his hips once more and caught it rather skilfully, “Like that?” he moaned.

“ _ Yes! _ Yes,  _ just _ like that,” John begged, tears glistening in his eyes and heart thundering, emotion and desire rushing to meet one another. “Oh God, kiss me again?” he asked before reaching up and snogging Sherlock messily and without finesse.

As they kissed Sherlock started up a slow rhythm, catching John’s prostate on the end of the steady thrusts he gave with a short, sharp, sudden buck of his hips, but soon he began to gain more confidence, more control, more knowledge and more eagerness, and he rocked into John at various speeds intermittently. He rolled his entire body into some thrusts and then only moved and arched his hips with others, and John was in heaven. The almost constant pounding of his prostate was sending him into pleasurable heights that he had never experienced before, coupled with Sherlock's taut stomach stroking his cock, it was almost too much and he sobbed with bliss, scratching down Sherlock's spine hard enough to leave welts.

Feeling tearful and slightly emotional, as expected, John pulled Sherlock's forehead to rest on his own as he whispered, on a whim, on a grinding want, “I think I love you...”

Sherlock kissed the tip of his nose, slowing down his movements, and then stroked the side of John’s face with one shaky hand, “Mm – You ‘ _ think _ ’?” he huffed with a soft laugh.

“No. Not think. No, no I do. I love you,” John repeated, almost mad with need as he raised his hips again, wrapping his legs around Sherlock's waist. “I think I'm getting close though –  _ really _ close.”

Sherlock hummed and then began bucking into John quick and impatient, rubbing along John’s prostate with each and every motion now, “Good, John,” he whispered as he tucked his head into John's neck, puffing out breaths which sent shivers down John's spine. Sherlock then wiggled his hand between their bodies, reaching to stroke John’s erection with his fingers, focusing on the sensitive, wet head, which was purple with arousal.

“Oh!” John shouted, clenching down around Sherlock's cock and scrabbling for Sherlock's shoulders, his fingernails cutting in as he repeated “Oh” again and again, his voice getting higher and more frenzied. He moaned Sherlock's name, tensed and then let his eyelids flutter as he suddenly, spectacularly, came hard, wailing in pleasure.

John threw his head back, eyes rolling, as he orgasmed, spurts of thick, white semen covering his stomach while he pulsed and pulsed, the orgasm seeming never ending as he throbbed and clenched down on Sherlock's prick. Among the dizzying, seemingly relentless rush of pleasure, John felt Sherlock press closer, and move harder and faster, lengthening John’s climax as Sherlock himself grunted and gasped. He pressed deep with a loud and booming groan in his own release, long fingers sliding through John’s ejaculate and grasping his waist.

“I can feel you,” John whispered, eyes wide. Not Sherlock's sperm of course, Sherlock having worn a condom, but John could feel the throbbing and twitching shaft inside him that seemed to swell against his inner walls. Groaning with the rush of chemicals and hormones, John reached for Sherlock and held him tightly, curling into him whilst sniffing back tears. “I'm not crying because I regret it...” John explained quickly “It's just –  _ a lot _ .”

Slumping within the emotional embrace, Sherlock sighed with a low humming moan, and twitched in aftershock, his hips rocking erratically, with almost no control, against and inside John, “S’okay,” he slurred in a husky murmur into John’s throat. “You did…tell me about it, so it’s fine…I…like it…”

John wrapped his arms around Sherlock, inhaling his spicy scent and sighing happily as he stroked through Sherlock's hair, “Was nice...” he drawled, his other hand drawing patterns on Sherlock's spine. “Felt good”

“…Just ‘nice?’” Sherlock scoffed, shivering and twisting and squirming with delight under John’s touch.

“Oh come on,” John grumbled with a smirk, kissing whatever part of Sherlock was closest. “I can't words yet. It was – better than good. There? That better?”

Sherlock chuckled, “Much better,” he replied, turning and lifting his head to kiss John lovingly, rubbing his lips into John’s in vaguely suggestive and fond way.

“Better than masturbation?” Sherlock asked a few minutes later when John was dozing, enjoying the afterglow of his orgasm and the warmth bleeding through Sherlock's body into his own skin. Blinking awake, John frowned with a muffled, questioning hum, and Sherlock expanded on what he’d said, looking down at his softening cock which still lay wrapped in it’s latex sheath, an impressive amount of semen coating it. “The sex. Was it better than masturbation?”

“Yes,” John giggled, nodding quickly. “I don't think I'll be doing much 'sleeping' from now on.”

“Well, you could always 'sleep' in my bed from now on?” Sherlock suggested, sounding cautious but looking neutral as he avoided eye contact and let his thumb stroke across John's skin. “If you wanted?”

“I think I’d like that. I’d like to share my ‘sleep’ with you,” John laughed, but stilled and frowned, trying to get a better look at Sherlock’s face, tipping his chin up. “Wait… are we talking about sleep or masturbation now?”

“Both?” Sherlock answered with a grin, allowing the moment to pass before he spoke again. “Although you're not allowed to masturbate in my bed without me. I want to watch.”

“Deal,” John yawned, nuzzling into Sherlock's side. “No wanking.”

“Without me.” Sherlock specified,

“Yes. Without you,” John replied with a playful roll of his eyes. “Not sure I'll need to wank anymore though…I mean, you do – want to do this again?”

“Oh definitely,” Sherlock growled, snuffled into John's hair and softly nibbling on the top of his ear. “How long until you can gain an erection again?”

“After that?” John asked, raising an eyebrow. “Not until I've had a full twelve hours sleep, a pint of fluids and something edible that’s high in energy.”

“I'll give you thirty minutes,” Sherlock warned, winking. “We have a lot of time to make up for.”

**Author's Note:**

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